


Building A Community

by SleepDeprivedFemale



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Gen, How To Cheer Up A Grim Reaper, Pre-Manga
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-02 08:55:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8660620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepDeprivedFemale/pseuds/SleepDeprivedFemale
Summary: Lord Death hadn't realized the effects Death City would have on his own psyche. When one day a zealous missionary travels to a small mysterious settlement in one of Nevada's deserts, the Grim Reaper is surprised by the people's reaction.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place about 250+ years after Death City was founded. Basically shortly after Columbus reaches the Americas and around when European immigrants came to colonize. Please point out any historical inaccuracies you see so that they may be fixed.

Death was grumpy.

And why shouldn’t he be? The construction of the Academy was delayed yet again. Something about the support structures and some 'giant leaning candles not being structurally sound’ nonsense.

Bah! What did the humans know? Killing each other, that’s what. The past few years had been tumulus, what with the continent being 'discovered’ by some random humans from another part of the world, who then proceeded to move in in large numbers. All that did was create more conflicts and increase Lord Death’s already busy workload.

Some of those immigrants -or 'settlers’ as they liked being called, even if this part of the Earth had already been settled by fellows of their species- had made their way into Death’s territory. After the initial surprise and some shock -Death was used to one person at least fainting when groups of humans saw him and realized who he was- some decided to settle in with the native folk.

There were some tensions between the different groups of people but Death was having none of that. After one guy broke another guy’s nose in an incident involving the insulting of mothers and various other ancestors, the Grim Reaper has made it abundantly clear that the people here would have to treat each other with respect and dignity or they would have to face an angry, but mostly annoyed, Death God. Most behaved after that. Some had attempted to defy him and were promptly scolded like the children they were acting like. Those still rebelling were sent away. This place had no need for troublemakers. Death had enough on his plate as it was.

The village had grown steadily after that minor kerfuffle. More and more people were settling in, small camps of grass houses being next to European-styled huts. The population had also grown, and the rumour that this small village oasis, surrounded by desert and death, was suitable for Weapons and Meisters quickly spread. Every day more and more humans with Weapon or Meister blood came to the city. The lucky ones were accompanied by a few friends and family. The less fortunate ones arrived only with a bundle of clothes, exhausted and persecuted by their communities.

This increase in Meisters and Weapons proved to be a challenge to Death. He wanted them to hone their abilities, go out and try and quell Asura’s residual madness… but they were too many and their skills were vastly different. If there was to be any form of progress, they had to be educated properly and orderly. Thus came his idea for a special school dedicated to Meisters and Weapons -Death hadn’t decided ln a name yet. To account for the probable further increase in population, he’d have to make the building quite big, as to not run out of space in the following centuries.

Besides he wasn’t asking for much, comparatively. Humans had been building extravagant shrines and temples to both real and fake deities before the beginning of recorded history. For crying out loud, Eibon had a _city_ dedicated to him, on the upper reaches of Antarctica, where no human had set foot, yet. Not that Death was going to say that part out loud to humans, that would only cause them to go explore the place despite the Old One’s warnings against doing so and end up dead, or _worse_.

Besides, _his_ building had an actual purpose than just look fancy. It was to be turned into an Academy, an educational space for Weapons and Meisters to train their skills in a safe and ordered environment. So far, they had been using the undeveloped fields around the small but slowly growing village as training grounds, but the whole process was woefully unorganized. Plus, someone always ended up stepping on poop.

Plus, when the school did get ready, that would mean Death would have a place to call his own. Not a house -these were exclusively human concepts- but a room of sorts, a place where he could go and be undisturbed, or at least exercise some control of who he was talking to. Being around humans all day, forced to twist his voice so that the children wouldn’t cry and the adults wouldn’t faint, was a constant mild irritation, like hearing the buzzing of a mosquito next to your ear on a warm summer night.

The tall and imposing figure -Death had been trying to smooth over his spiky and a tad terrifying appearance, to moderate effect- slumped in irritation as he looked over the half-finished building.

“Um, sir- I mean Lord Death?” asked of the builders, taking a hesitant step towards the figure.

The Grim Reaper didn’t need to turn his head to recognize who it was. The person was Thomas -or Tom as he liked to be called-, a well-built Englishman who arrived at the city a couple of years ago with another group of settlers. They all had Weapon blood in them, and they had heard of the rumours about the town of Death. Their initial group of five settlers had steadily increased as they made their way to the Nevada, with other Europeans and a few natives joining them in their long trek. Some of their members had perished but they eventually made it, mostly safe and sound.

As for Thomas himself, from what Death knew, since the Old One held a brief interview with anyone settling into _his_ territory, he was a decent hardworking person. Thomas had grown up as the black sheep of his family due to his condition as a Weapon. After a particular incident where some thugs attempted to beat him up and he ended up accidentally cutting someone’s arm off, Thomas had decided to leave his homeland behind. He had wanted to make the journey to the New World where he was unknown and live a calm, though secretive, life. However, when he heard the rumours of a place where his kind was accepted, he couldn’t resist joining the group for their long journey.

As for now, Thomas had proved to be a useful member of their small community. He used his unusual strength to help around with construction and worked on his garden patch in his free time. He was seeing a female Spanish Meister, Anna, -the language barrier was the biggest obstacle they had to overcome- and the two were making plans for marriage. In summary, the man was a perfect representation of the gentle giant stereotype.

“What is it?” The Grim Reaper responded in a neutral tone. He was a bit proud when he managed to hide most of the dread that involuntarily coated his voice.

“Um, a new group has arrived. They are waiting at the outskirts of the city.” The man turned to point towards the direction mountain range, behind the foundations of the Academy. “Some of the folk there did the smoke-signal thingy.”

“Ah yes, I see,” Lord Death looked over where a thin column of smoke was rising. It was below the hill where the village was settled, on the outskirts of the small oasis used as farmland.

“Should we let them in?”

Death tilted his head in thought. On one hand, he was busy and the last thing he wanted was screen more humans who would just grovel and mumble nonsense. On the other hand, Death didn't want to turn down people, especially if they turned out to be Weapons or Meisters... “Sure, why not. Bring them in the outskirts of the village, as usual. I’ll be there shortly.”

The man nodded and approached a young native woman who he knew understood some English. After a few wildly exaggerated gestures and some pantomime, with both parties repeating things loudly in their native language as if the other would magically understand them due to the sheer volume of their voice, the young woman, Wanekia, if Lord Death remembered her name correctly, rode on a short young spotted horse towards the source of the smoke.

With a sigh, Death slowly made his way towards the designated meeting place. He passed a few people, those who acknowledged him giving a respectful nod.

As small houses passed him by, Death’s thoughts wandered. They wandered to the half-finished school, the difficulties of the surroundings due to the desert, the effort needed to successfully coordinate its running… The school was his last gambit for keeping the world in order, trying to make the best out of an inconvenient situation.

Honestly, there were lots of little frustrations which kept piling up. There was nothing Death could do though. It was his fault he was stranded here. Asura was the mistake that kept making his life -well, existence to be more accurate- difficult. Now he couldn’t leave this damned patch of land, perhaps permanently. Death wasn’t the adventurous type, but he had a duty and a responsibility as the enforcer of Order. Confined as he was, he might as well give up the Earth to the mortals’ lurking madness.

Perhaps... it was time for a successor. The Grim Reaper was useless as he was, trapped in this tiny dessert valley. Maybe it was best of Death gave up his reigns on the next Grim Reaper, one who wouldn’t be confined by their own soul.

Death had a good run, after all. Well, slightly good. He had knocked those annoying witches down a peg, even with Eibon’s betrayal. He had managed to unite, even if briefly, some of the Old Ones. Sure, their team broke shortly after it was made but Death appreciated being around his kin. They were even getting along, at least some of them. Death had enjoyed Excalibur’s presence, even if he felt like banging his head against a wall shortly after.

The Grim Reaper broke out of his thoughts when he saw the approaching caravan. It couldn't even be called a group, since it consisted of only of a man and the two horses pulling the carriage. A crowd had gathered, since newcomers were always a novelty and a rich source of gossip. People whispered in their native tongues, whereas some more mixed groups had a fast-talking interpreter among them. A group of children had climbed on a nearby storage barn for corn and barley, looking over the scenery.

Death was quite some distance away, out of the newcomer's point of view since the man accidentally had his back against him. The Grim Reaper had just made it on the outer edges of the gathered crowd, the people parting hastily to open the way for the approaching Death God, when the stranger spoke in a booming voice.

“People of this land!” The man stood up straight, splaying his hands out wide in a dramatic fashion. "I have come to instil the words of our Lord into your hearts.”

Death frowned at the man's words. “An intruder?” he wondered out loud.

“Even worse. One of them preachers,” an old man scoffed as he walked up to Death in familiarity. Tate was an old native, having arrived to the village at a young age. His parent had sent him along with his siblings and a few other members of their group, to keep them safe from the conflicts around the area. He and his brothers and sisters travelled back to visit their parents once a year. Then ten years passed, there was a particularly nasty attack from both sides and they couldn’t do it anymore.

“Oh boy,” Death responded in the man’s native tongue. “These people are always annoying.”

Tate gave him a sideways glance, straightening his back from his slumped pose. “I could always shoot them with my arrows.” He patted his trusty bow, and his other hand reached back for his arrows.

“Don’t,” Death quickly responded. He didn’t build this community just so more people would be senselessly murdered. “But I appreciate the gesture.”

Tate nodded nonchalantly, retracting his hand from his arrows. His other hand still clutched the bow.

Death let out another sign before approaching the unknown man who was absorbed in his loud ramblings. A brief look at his soul revealed him to be Joseph Grey, English, age 35.

The people moved their gazes when they saw the approaching Death God, their bored looks shifting to those of curiosity, apprehension and occasionally sardonic glee.

Joseph, clad in dark robes and clutching a hardback book with a black cover and engraved with a cross, noticed he no longer had the crowd's attention. Frowning, he stopped his sermon mid-sentence and turned around to see what could have possibly captivated his audience.

The man froze in place when he saw the approaching black figure.

“Hello there.” The friendly greeting came in contrast with Death’s tone. Any sense of joviality was superficial.

The man gaped at the figure, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water. He glanced at the gathered people and then back at the Reaper, his eyes barely staying for more than a second on the mask resembling a jawless human skull.

“You!” Joseph eventually yelled out, pointing an accusatory finger at the black-clad being. “I had heard of the rumours but never believed I would see a face of evil on this Earth.”

Death gave the heavily robed man a deadpan look, which was a feat considering his face was a skull. “That’s rude.”

The missionary pointedly ignored him, looking around at the gathered people. “My fellow children of God! This is The Devil who sways men from the righteous pack-”

“Women too,” Death added in humour. He couldn’t be bothered responding seriously. Isa, Tate’s wife who was standing a few paces behind them, failed to hide her amused snort.

It was another thing that puzzled the Old One. Some men had a very condescending look of the opposite gender, some opposing women practicing their Weapon or Meister abilities. Death couldn’t be bothered to find out why, because humans are stupid and often don’t like each other for childish reasons -plus he still wasn’t 100% sure how genders worked. Humans had laughably short lives and watching them waste it on such nonsensical and often hurtful actions was like watching a train-crash in slow motion. So the Grim Reaper tried to quell any such attitudes when he saw them. There was some pushback but Death was a god and this was _his_ territory. If people didn’t like the rules he made, they were free to leave.

“I see your true form, devil!” the preacher yelled, his vigour not being affected by the Death God’s patronizing attitude. “I see your black soul engulfing these innocent people!"

“Everyone else can see it too, you know,” Death replied in a flat unimpressed tone. “And my soul is actually yellow.” The Grim Reaper silently decided against picking the missionary by one leg and seeing how far he could throw him. No matter how funny that was, he may scare one of the children. Or one of the adults. It was hard telling the difference sometimes.

Holding back a sigh and tuning out the man’s continued frantic rambles, Death tried to think of a way to politely tell the man to sod off. If he could also convince the preacher to tell his ‘kin’ that coming here was a losing battle, then all the better.

The Grim Reaper was about to tell the man to quiet down because he was loud and obnoxious when, in Death’s opinion, a very peculiar thing happened.

“Oi, that’s enough,” a well-built man spoke up as he stepped forwards, standing beside the Grim Reaper. Thomas.

The preacher did a double take at the newcomer. “What-?!”

“We’re a peaceful folk here,” Thomas began, the crowd behind him who understood English nodding in agreement. We don’t want trouble makers like you.”

Death didn’t butt in the argument, tilting his head at Thomas. This was… unexpected.

Joseph gave Tom a scandalized look. “Troublemaker-? Child, I am trying to save your soul-!”

“My soul will be perfectly fine under Lord Death’s supervision,” Thomas responded. Those who understood English nodded in agreement.

This day kept surprising Death.

“You call that Satanic creature your Lord?!”

If Death had eyes, the would have rolled down the village’s hill. Honestly, he had done this song and dance before.

Some humans, especially the more devout ones, always seemed to harbor negative feelings towards Death. Death had no problem with them worshiping whatever deities they thought existed, but he had expected some level of decency found amongst intelligent beings. What he got instead, were barrages of inconsequential insults with useless gestures of driving Death away, which ended up to the Grim reaper leaving because of annoyance. Not all did that, some were respectful and they had some interesting conversations, but there was a significant minority that pushed all the wrong buttons. One could take being sprayed with 'Holy’ Water only so many times.

For humans in general, most had figured out that insulting Death got you nowhere, but those that hadn’t, rubbed Death the wrong way. Death had almost no issues with the people here, and they treated him with a satisfying level of respect. Some, as shown by Thomas and the others supporting him, took the extra step.

Death wasn’t sure how to feel about that. It was unusual.

“You are all deluded! Following these savages,” Joseph gave the native group a dirty look, “into their worship of false idols!”

Tate leaned over to Death, who had stepped back in semi-amusement as he watched the whole thing unfold. “He looked at us when he spoke. Were his words an insult?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” the Grim Reaper admitted.

“He called us savages,” Isa said as she walked up to the two. She was around the same age as her husband, with long braided grey hair and had a sharp wit.

Tate rolled his eye. “Typical.”

“You could insult him back," Death offered. After all, he knew humans weren’t above being petty.

Tate made a quick dismissive gesture with his free hand. “There is no point. He won’t understand a thing. Half of the fun is seeing their reaction.”

“You could swallow your pride and ask me to teach you English, you stubborn man,” Isa said in another round of endearing insults, which seemed to be routine for the two.

“Bah, that’s take too long,” Tate scoffed. “I can’t be bothered.”

“In that case, since you’d have all that free time, you need to teach your daughter how to transform. Her arm turned to a blade and she got stuck to the ground the other day.  It took twenty minutes for it to transform back.”

“Little Wanekia is a weapon?” Death asked, disregarding the argument that was still happening between the preacher and the people living here. This was news to him.

Isa gave him a bright smile. “Yes, she’s an axe. Just like her old man.”

“We are the same age. If I’m an old man, you’re an old woman.”

“Old woman or not, I can still throw you across a river,” she said, referring to her Meister abilities. “Also, insulting the one who cooks your food is not a good idea.”

“Bah! I’m the one who brings the good stuff!” Tate shot back, just as teasingly.

Leaving them to their harmless marital banter, the Grim Reaper refocused his attention to the preacher. People were getting more passionate, and Death may have to step in before someone did something foolish.

Joseph in particular, seemed to be getting redder and livider by the second. “If you let me, I will undo the poisoning-!”

“Back off!” A new voice came as Anna, Thomas’ wife, walked up to her husband. “Get out. You’re not welcome here.”

“Woman, this does not involve you-”

“Don’t talk to my wife like that-” Thomas began but was stopped by Anna placing a hand -or trying to, since they had a significant difference in height.

“Dear, I will care of this,” Anna spoke in quick Spanish. Thomas glared at the missionary, but eventually conceded, stepping back as Anna gave Joseph a fierce glare.  Unlike Thomas, who was mostly calm and collected, Anna came off more aggressive, like a particularly overprotective cat.

“We do not want your kind here,” she began, accentuating each word with a venomous tone. “You preach peace but practice war.”

“As a man of God I cannot His lands to fall upon ruin-!”

“They’re not!” Anna cut him off. “These are Death’s lands. This is Death’s city!” Anna looked back at the crowds gathered behind her and gave a quick glance to the black figure watching in confusion. “We’re Death’s people!”

Her words were accompanied by cheers, which increased as people translated to one another the woman’s words.

The Grim Reaper, having remained silent during the exchange, looked at the people and the hill behind him, where the majority of houses where. Death city was a nice name for this place. Fitting. Perhaps he should have it as an official name for this little patch of land.

Meanwhile, Joseph looked upon the cheering crowd and his frown deepened by the second. “I shall leave, but know that you are condemning yourselves!” The missionary gave them all a grim look before hopping onto his wagon and driving it away. “I will pray for your salvation.”

“Good riddance!” another person in the group yelled, which was followed by agreeing cheers and a few jeers aimed at the retreating wagon.

Later on, when the crowd had dissipated and went back on their regular routine, Death had approached Thomas. He was hanging out with Anna and a few other people, including Isa.

“Hello,” Death gave them a little greeting, upon which the crowds scrambled up in a presentable manner. Death let out a small sigh and hoped they would drop the mannerism. It was flattering at first, but now seemed a bit excessive. The Grim Reaper was surprised when he realised that he preferred the informality of a simple casual conversation than the serious manner some of the more well-composed people here addressed him with.

What had this town done to him?

“Lord Death,” Thomas began.

“Why did you do that?” the Grim Reaper asked Thomas in neutral tone.

“Oh you mean with the preacher?” The man looked away and rubbed his neck. “Uh, if I was out of line…”

“I’m not here to scold you. You did nothing wrong,” Death reassured him. “But ‘m still curious why you did what you did.”

“Sir, uh… you always look out for us. The people here, you give them a place to stay, a place to belong. For most people here this is our home.”

“So… you drove him away in order to win favours and ask for my continued protection?” Death tilted his head in confusion. Humans often did that with beings they perceived as deities. He didn’t mind such gestures but they worked an awful lot like bribery. Not to mention that the humans that did worship Death had a propensity for the macabre and sacrifice. As if Death would be honoured by having more work piled up on him.

“Uh, that doesn’t sound right..."

"Then...?" Death asked. The event had piqued his curiosity.

“Um, if I may,” Anna spoke up. “I think I know why my husband did that.” She was back to her usual, slower way of speaking.

“I’m curious about your reasons too, Anna.”

The woman gave him a brief lost look before composing herself. “Well, they are simple. That man was…” she took a small pause, as if trying to figure out the best word to use, “he was attacking you.”

Death did the equivalent of raising an eyebrow. “That’s a bit of an exaggeration.”

“Words hurt sir. They can do damage.” She looked to her husband, who nodded at her words. “Tom didn’t like that, I didn’t, no one here did.”

Isa nodded at that as well, not bothering to stand up from there she was. “I agree. Tate later said that he’d have liked to put an arrow between the guy’s eyes.”

“He expressed that ambition to me as well,” Death replied, earning a small laugh from the elderly woman.

Anna smiled at the exchange, before continuing. “Sir, you are part of the community. And one of the rules is to look out for each other. That should include you as well," the woman concluded, rubbing her neck.

“...Oh.”

Death had forgotten what companionship was like. His pact with some of the Old Ones was a brief period white he was with individuals he could consider friend, a short period among many eons of loneliness.

It felt nice.

“What Thomas and Anna meant to say, is that…” Isa paused giving the Grim Reaper a small smile. “You helped us." She gestured around her. "By building this community, you gave us a home. A place where we are accepted for what we are.  We want to help you too.”

Death’s tone was supposed to be genuine gratefulness, but had been unused for so long, so his words came out in a whisper.

“Thank you.”

Maybe things weren’t that bad after all.


End file.
